


Jeeves and the Case of Stilton’s Passport

by preux



Series: Bertie and Jeeves: International Men of Mystery [2]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Cleavers, Competent!Bertie, Established Relationship, Food, M/M, Paris (City), Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/preux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie and Jeeves just want to cuddle and...whatnot.  Instead they get embroiled in international intrigue... oh, and engaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ending the golden time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves teases Bertie and Bertie teases Jeeves. A Ho! sounds unwelcomely.

_Note on the usage of names in the text_

_Gentle reader,_

_You may note that Mr. Wooster and I reverted to our original names for each other in the current tale.  This was a result of a conversation, which Mr. Wooster was good enough to record._

“I say, Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“I realize that we call each other by our names now and suchlike, but everyone will be on to us if we keep this up in the prose, if that is the word I want.  Is it the word I want?”

“I believe you mean exposition, love.”

“Yes, exposish. Quite right.  I mean to say, that is, that if we use our Christian names in the exposish, then the readers will understand our relationship.”

“But what of the dialogue?”

“We use our formal names in public, Reg.  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what, love?”

“Like I am about to ask you to sing 'Forty-Seven Ginger-Headed Sailors' to the Junior Ganymede Club while wearing a soft-bosomed evening dress shirt in a pale heliotrope.”

“I apologize, I became distracted for a moment.  Does this mean a great deal to you, love?”

“Yes, Reg, it does.  I thank you for conceding.  Is that the word I want?”

“Yes, love.”

“I thank you for conceding the point.  It is very good of you.”

“You are most welcome, my love.”

“Would you like some blandishments?”  
“I believe I would prefer an exchange of affections, if it is agreeable to you.”

“It is more than agreeable.”

“Very good, love.”

 _As you can see, this measure is intended as a mode of stealth in order to protect the reader from any knowledge of our secret life behind closed doors._ _\--R. Jeeves_

 

**Bertie**

A blissful spell of weather had characterized Wooster-Jeeves relations for nigh on two weeks, owing in large part to the introduction into the intercourse between master and man of a very different type of i. between m. and m.  Events had been rather chaotic and the Wooster nerves began the general brawl leading to our temporary residence in Paris in a somewhat frayed condition.  When confronted with the slings and arrows of outrageous whatsit, Wooster often found recourse in the pleasures of the closet—or, not the closet precisely because Jeeves generally kept good control over that, but the department store and the haberdasher.  Scarlet cummerbunds, plaid plus-fours, monogrammed handkerchiefs, soft-bosomed evening shirts, white mess jackets with brass buttons, and sundry other sartorial delights, if sartorial is the word I want, had danced briefly into the Wooster closet only to be thrown out, burned, given to elevator operators, or in one notable case, confined to the bed chamber.  One such s.d. was wending its way into the Wooster orbit, destined to throw the first kink into the newly-minted Wooster-Jeeves romantic alliance.

Jeeves and I had spent several completely blissful days in Paris getting to know each other better.  The first two days exist in memory in a glowing haze like that splendor in the grass that the poet chap scribbled out. We woke on the third day, twined together naked in a snarl of sheets.  Jeeves bunged an arm about the slender waist some time in the night, drawing the willowy form against him until we nestled together like two spoons with their legs wrapped around each other.  Unlike Wooster, Jeeves was an early riser, and very regular in the hours of repose.  He awoke first and moved his chest away from the Wooster back so that he could run a reassuring hand over the willowy f.  Wooster made muffled growling noises and burrowed into the pillows, and Jeeves gathered the w.f. back against him and lay still while Wooster pulled himself back from the sandman’s realm.

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“What time is it?”

“It’s late morning, about your usual time.”

“Ah.  Would you like to be up and doing?”

“Not precisely, love.” The reassuring h. began a journey across the Wooster chest while the Jeevesian lips investigated the terrain about the Wooster neck and shoulder.  I tried to roll over, but he held me in place so he could nibble my ear.  Gruntled noises issued from the throat under this treatment. I made a motion again. The feeling of our skins sliding against each other as I rolled over was utterly delish.  He nipped the Wooster nose and chin, and stroked the W. hair while the W. l.s were applied to the J. collarbones and throat.  I began to work my way down his corpus.  “Love?”

“Yes, Reg?” I looked up at him from about the region of the J. rib cage.

“Is there some project I should know about?”

“Project?”

“You seem intent on a goal, love.”

I flushed.  “Ah, yes. That is, perhaps. Or, I, rather, what do you mean, Reg?”

The fonder sort of smile appeared on the Jeevesian visage and he tousled my hair. “You seem quite intent, love. What are you doing?”

“Doing?  Oh, ah, er, well.” I reddened, and he stroked the side of my stubbly face.  We hadn’t shaved because we only left the flat to shamble to the market in shabby clothes for viands.  I was stunned when Jeeves said he often went about in shabby togs during his holiday.  It seemed like a forbidden, almost sinful thing, and i liked it.

“I am sure that nothing you say will offend me, love.”

“Really?”

“I find that I have grown quite fond of you.”

“Oh, fond is it?”

“Yes, love.” We grinned, and Wooster recommenced activities. “Please, love?”

“Are you wheedling for a response?”

“Perhaps.”

I cleared the pipes.  “Do you remember the night that I called for you in my sleep?” The J. smile took on a tinge of thingness.

“Of course, love.”

“Well, you see, when you, er, ah, were… I thought that I would like to kiss you ah, er, everywhere… that is.”  I was redder than a boiled lobster, and Jeeves flushed in sympathy.

“Everywhere?” I rested a shamefaced bean against him. He chuckled and tousled the hair.  “I see, love.” I crawled up to put the bean under an embarrassed pillow. “My dearest Bertie, I am sorry. Don’t be upset with me, please,” he stroked the willowy form and then invaded the pillow with his brain-filled head.  Tears stung the peepers. Rummy because I knew the teasing was in good fun. I dropped the e.s. to hide the tears. “Darling, love, ” he said, brushing my cheeks with his fingers and then kissing them. “I am sorry.” His expression captured the melancholy way I suddenly felt. “That was a difficult night for you, was it not?”

“I felt very upset at having frightened you. And you?”

“It opened my life, darling. My way was suddenly clear to have the one thing I had most wanted.  I only had to make a plan to keep safe.”

“I am glad, then. What was it that you had wanted, Reg?”

Jeeves boggled, then folded me in his arms, kissing me soundly. “You, love.”

I was immoderately pleased. “I wanted you too.” His fingers found my semitumescent member and commenced gently stroking.  I emitted a delighted gargling sound and reached for him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” We stroked each other lingeringly until rigid with desire and I moved to take him in my mouth. “Ah, Bertie, darling.” He arched the back and splayed the legs, writhing about in ecstasy while I teased him, taking him to the brink of release and then pulling back, then stroking him again until he was in a near frenzy before bringing him off.  He shook, uncontrollably, in every limb. I clambered up to take him in my arms, feeling very pleased with myself, even more pleased in that moment than I was not too much later when I experienced my own release in Reg’s capable hands.

 

**Jeeves**

We reached the end of our golden interlude without realizing it.  I wonder now if we would have altered anything had we known what that day would bring, but at the time I was only conscious of my great love and the incredible luck we had in overcoming our reticence.  We had devoted a great deal of time to perfecting the use of our mouths and tongues on each other, and each day seemed to bring a deepening of our mutual understanding.  I marked the end of that golden time as the moment when, after pleasing each other in the bed and the bath and then the bed again, we shaved and dressed and closed the door to the flat, intent on seeing the sights of Paris as lovers and friends. We assumed that we could pick our golden connection back up.  Perhaps had we spent the afternoon curled up on the divan reading and feeding each other pieces of baguette and cheese, things would have gone differently.  And we were lucky, for in our innocence we had experienced the most perfect days of pleasure I had ever known.

****

**Bertie**

We ankled out and spent a few hours trotting through the Louvre taking in the artefacts.  I was taken with the bally winged beazel missing her head and arms, and Jeeves was intrigued by the Egyptian artifacts. Generally, this type of culture wheeze was not in my schedule, but when one is in love with Reg, one sees art when it is available, just as one plays classical music.  It pleases him so bally much that the heart swells to witness it and his responses afterwards curl the toes and send tingles through other regions of the body. Afterward we walked along the Seine, arm in arm like the French chaps. We avoided the posh watering holes for fear of seeing someone we knew and trickled down to the less fashionable districts.  We took an early supper and began to wend our way back, when Jeeves got a rummy look on his face.

“Sir,” he said, stiffening slightly.

“Jeeves?”

“I think we should head to the other flat as it is closer.”

“Very good, Jeeves,” I said, affecting a careless tone.  We nipped into a shop full of delightfully fruity berets.  Jeeves led me to the back of the store and then shimmered up to the window to ask the proprietor something about felt, I believe, while I fingered a violet-colored beauty.  When Jeeves materialized by my side, he sneered at the beret. “What ho,” I said.  “Is anything the matter?”

“I called a cab, sir.”

“All right.  Do I have time to pay for this?”

“Would you be so good as to purchase a different color?”

“I like this one.”

“Very good, sir.”

I paid for the beret and we hopped into the cab and arrived in a strange place.  

“Ho!” sounded a voice.  A sick feeling settled in the pit of the Wooster stomach.

“Here is Mr. Cheesewright, sir.”  G. D’Arcy “Stilton” Cheesewright had plagued my existence since our earliest school days.  The Wooster heart had warmed toward him when he took a bullet in my stead several days earlier, but he looked less than chuffed at the current meeting.

“What ho, Stilton?”

“Good evening, Jeeves. Wooster.” Stilton cast his eyes about definitely looking less than chuffed.

“We will retrieve it for you, sir.” Jeeves had a certain thingness in his tone. Stilton lifted an eyebrow.

“Not necessary,” he said, handing me a manila envelope.  “I’ll accompany you.  No one else need know where you are.”

“I saw Mr. Fortescue following us earlier, sir.”

“Yes, he is a blighter.” Stilton sighed.  “He spotted you coming out of a bistro. I sent him back to the one where we met before to look for clues.”

I stood, the mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.  We could not possibly let Stilton into the flat.  Our clothes were strewn about higgedly-piggeldy and only one bed had been slept in.  Or, at least that is how the flat had looked when I awoke this morning.  Jeeves could have righted everything in a minute.  “Clues to what?”

“Anything he likes, Wooster.”

Jeeves summoned a cab and installed Stilton and self into the main compartment while he popped in with the driver.

“How’s the arm, Stilton?”

“Much better.  Jeeves was right about that jelly.  It really did work.  Bally smell though. Faugh.”

I shuddered.  “Yes, bally smell.  Glad you are improved.  How was your trip?”

“Blasted French blighter.”  I surmised that things had not gone as planned.

“Eh?”

“Uncooperative.  Wants to talk to someone he knows.”

“Ah?”

“He asked to speak with you.”

“Me?!”

“Don’t flop about on the floor like an ass, Wooster.” Stilton stuffed a hand under the arm and levered me back onto my seat.

“I don’t know any spies, old fruit.”

“Well, he knows you,” said Stilton grimly. 

When we neared the flat, I pretended that I needed to but some gaspers, and Stilton accompanied me.

**Jeeves**

Our afternoon in the Louvre was more successful than I had anticipated.  Mr. Wooster generously desired the opportunity to indulge my tastes.  “After all, you have spent rather a lot of time listening to me play comic songs.”  He could not have been more correct.  We had a really delightful afternoon together, but there were disappointments.  The first was that Mr. Wooster was reluctant to enter the type of establishment he would normally frequent for fear that we would be seen. The next was the sight of Mr. Fortescue attempting to stealthily follow us from the bistro where we had taken a light meal, and the topper, as Mr. Wooster would say, was my lover purchasing a violet colored beret. I prayed that he would not see fit to wear it out in public with me.

Mr. Fortescue relentlessly gave clumsy pursuit and Mr. Cheesewright appeared soon afterward.  That gentleman looked incredibly annoyed and appeared to desire a private conference with Mr. Wooster.  We boarded a cab, and I was contemplating the state of the flat when Mr. Wooster decided to purchase a packet of cigarettes.  I proceeded to the flat and righted the few things that required attention, then prepared some refreshments for our expected guest.


	2. Jeeves and the violet beret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie makes an unwelcome discovery and hies forth upon the metropolis clad in a violet beret. Wacky high jinks ensue.

**Bertie**

Stilton exuded a certain angry moodiness while I perused the fragrant, leafy offerings at the tobbaconists.  Delightful places, tobacconists, full of charm and mystery. I sniffed many wares, listened while the proprietor explained said w.s then made some selections and waited while they were wrapped.  As I was happily wondering to myself what the gaspers would taste like and whether Jeeves would enjoy the cigars, Stilton tapped the back of his feet, the counter and the back of my feet with his whangee. “Gods, Wooster, just pick something. I have plans to go to the club with Wally.”

“Ah. Sorry, Stilton.”  The proprietor thanked me fulsomely for my custom. We ankled out and Stilton took my arm.  I started, nearly dropping the package.

“Steady, Wooster.”

“My dear fruit, are we being followed?”

Stilton emitted a barking sound.  Further investigation identified it as a sort of hollow laugh. “No, Wooster. I merely need to tell you something.”

“Ah.”  We ankled.

“The MI6 is interested in engaging your services for a limited period of time.” We ankled further.  Stilton squeezed the arm, indicating that some response was called for.  We ankled.

“The what, old bean?”

“MI6.”

“I… ah, here’s the door. Perhaps you would be so kind as to step in and take something while Jeeves phones you a cab?”

Stilton clumped up the stairs in the mode of the less capable valet.  Jeeves shifted the door open before I had time to knock. I tried not to boggle as I entered the flat. It was immaculate. The flowers I bought for Reg protruded in a tasteful and understated fashion from a vase and a shallow dish.  Small glasses of nuts and sweetmeats adorned the small side tables.  A cigarette box waited empty on the sideboard, and decanters had been filled with rare vintages.  Jeeves shimmered about, setting coats and hats in their places, offering Stilton drink and food, being refused, then relieving me of the violet colored beret, and making for the door, looking extremely stuffed frog.

“Jeeves, a moment, please.” 

“Of course, sir.”

“Stilton here has said….”

“Blast, Wooster!  You know he has to write whatever you tell him in that blighted book. What is wrong with you?”

I boggled, and Jeeves inclined his head.

“I do take that trust very seriously, sir.  Perhaps you could simply ask for whatever information you need indirectly.”

“Er,” I fumbled for a moment inside the onion.  “What is the MI6?”

A look of anger and panic flitted briefly behind the stuffed frog. I hoped he was not too upset about the beret. “It is his majesty’s international secret service, sir.  If it is convenient, I will proceed with your supper.”

He shimmered out and Stilton waited until the door was shut before saying.  “You’ll need to train. I have an errand to run for the next few days, but I will be back on Saturday. Be ready for some hard work.”

“I’ll consider it, Stilton.  Will you stay for a cocktail before your bash with Wally?  He seems a decent sort of chap.  Do you think he has drummed up the requisite number of clues?”

Stilton gave me a rummy look. “Wooster, you may be an ass, but there is a bit of all right knocking about in there as well.  I should be going.  Does Jeeves have my jacket?”

Jeeves materialized, holding a large manila envelope.  “I took the liberty of sending your jacket and top coat for repairs with our things, Mr. Cheesewright.  Here are your passport and papers as well as the effects I removed from your assailant.”

Stilton exchanged a glance with Jeeves that spoke volumes.  I felt as I had the evening I was clipped in the pit of the stomach by a well-aimed dinner roll at a Drones bash by Stinker Pinker.  The man has a bally good arm.

Stilton was hefting a grim envelope. “This feels like a pistol.”

Jeeves adopted the schoolmarm face. “It is the pistol with which you were shot, Mr. Cheesewright. I retrieved it from the street. It seemed impolitic to leave it lying about or to leave our assailant with the rest of his equipment after his late behavior to you and Mr. Wooster. He was also carrying several knives and a cosh, which I have enclosed for your convenience.”

Stilton looked as if the bean was reeling within the huge pumpkin head.  He gave Jeeves another rummy look, this one replete with annoyance, then turned to me.

“Wooster, would you care to come to the club?”

“Thank-you Stilton, but I have still not fully recovered from my illness before we left London.  Perhaps another time.”

“Saturday,” said Stilton with some finality.  “If I am not back by Monday, please send and inquiry for me.”  Jeeves opened a grim door.  Stilton left and Jeeves locked the door behind him.  It slid shut noiselessly.

“You oiled the locks?”

“Of course, sir,” he said in a tight, cold voice, moving away, fists clenched and he oozed.  I stood, flapping the jaw indecorously for a mo, then closed the lips and ankled after him. 

I found him organizing cutlery. “Reg?”

I had never seen the expression on his face before, but he appeared hurt and angry. “Yes, Bertie?”  There was no warmth in his tone, and the heart froze within me.  What had I done to upset him like this?

“I don’t understand, Reg.  What is the MI6?  Why do they want me to go with Stilton?” His face went a shade or two paler than usual. “Are you upset about the beret?” The voice quavered, and he had taken me in his arms before the tears had had time to well up.

“Please do not be distressed, love.  I will come with you.”

“Can you?”

“Bertie, darling, I need to speak with you about something.”

“Of course.”

He took my hand and led me to the divan. We settled ourselves down and he wrapped an arm around the willowy waist.

“Love, I never wanted to tell you this, but I was a member of the MI6 during the war.  I was trained as a spy. And Mr. Cheesewright informed me that the country expects that it will have need of me for the next great war.”

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“Stilton told me that the bloke he met yesterday refused to talk to him and only wants to speak with me.  I’m a bit frightened, but in a manly way of course.”

“As am I, love.” 

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster kept his old schoolfellow occupied for the better part of an hour at the tobacconists, which afforded ample time to set the flat to rights and also to build adequate rapport with the groundskeeper to obtain oil for the locks. As I finished my tasks and took a moment to glance at the Poet Burns, I was astounded at the almost primal level of rage I felt with Mr. Cheesewright, not only for interfering with my beautiful golden time with Mr. Wooster but also for endangering the person I most loved in all the world.  I knew the feelings to be unjust, but my officer, who had chosen to induct me into this world, was dead and I could not remonstrate with him.  My last two weeks with Mr. Wooster had awakened me to the very real harm that my soul had suffered during the war. While I was grateful that I had not been felled by the influenza or in battle, I had been trained as a spy, a killer, and, I was beginning to realize, the sexual relationship that my officer had initiated with me had also been a type of training.  My stomach turned at the thought of myself or Mr. Wooster being called on for such service to the crown.

With great difficulty, I restrained myself from making any angry remarks to Mr. Cheesewright and then returned to the kitchen to collect myself, little thinking that Mr. Wooster would blame himself for my feelings.

I had forgotten about the violet beret, but I remembered it as soon as Mr. Wooster said my name. He would think I was upset with him about the garment. I wished I could crawl under the table and never come back out.  I did my best to appear normal, but Mr. Wooster had always been skilled at reading my emotions, although sometimes quite poor at discerning their causes.  I could see the bewilderment on his poor, dear face, but it was all I could do not to shout.  Of course, when I understood what Mr. Cheesewright had been saying to my darling lover, the heart melted in me and I took him in my arms to soothe him.  We settled on the divan to talk and it appears that Georges has asked to see Mr. Wooster. At least, I dearly hope that the contact is Georges.

“I didn’t think I knew any spies, Reg.”

“You know Mr. Cheesewright, and me, and you met my friend Georges. I believe Sir Roderick and the Earl of Sidcup have also served in that capacity.”

“I would never have thought.”

“And M. Anatole.”

“Rummy.”  I pulled Mr. Wooster into my lap.  “Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“When were you with Stilton? Was it preux?”

“I do not understand you, love.”

“Er, I whatsit. You and Stilton. I saw the look you gave each other and it was as if a dinner roll had caught me right below the navel.” I felt as if I had been clipped in the pit of the stomach. Mr. Wooster wrapped his arms around my neck and rested his forehead against mine. “I know you would never have shared something like that with me before… but there is something rummy, and you said we should not be reticent with each other about such matters. I, er, if it is, that is, you…” He sighed and struggled on. “If other of my, erm, friends…”

“I… There was no such contact with anyone else you might consider a friend. When we were in New York, love, you will recall that you found Lord Pershore to be a most disagreeable charge and went out to visit Mr. Todd.”

“Ah, Rocky. He is a nice chap.”

“Yes, love, a very pleasant young man. The two of you seemed quite taken with each other, a very different quality of connection between you than any of your other acquaintances. When you went to stay with him in the middle of the country, I felt, or feared, rather, that you would have a liaison.”

“We had a pleasant enough visit.”

“I thought that you and Mr. Todd had become lovers, Bertie.” I tightened my hold as Mr. Wooster started. “I would never have allowed him to wear your evening clothes otherwise.  You seemed very comfortable with him, even though he wore pajamas all day, and he visited you in your hotel much more than might have been expected. I could not imagine any other reason you would spend so much time with him.”

“Is that why you were difficult with him?”

“I confess that was the case. It was not until we began…”  Here Mr. Wooster applied his lips to mine. He is a darling man.  “Yes.  I did not realize that you had not, in fact…”

“We did not, in fact, Reg.  I like Rocky very much, and had matters been otherwise, I believe I could have liked him much more, but in the end I found that I did not have the heart for it.”

“Was it the pajamas, love?”

“Don’t be daft, Reg.  What care I for pajamas? It was you. I was in love with you.” I rubbed his back and we kissed again.

“While you were away, Mr. Cheesewright. As you know, we both do Swedish exercises, and he invited me to visit at the police training facility.”

“I had no idea.”

“You and Mr. Cheesewright do not mix well, love, but he was somewhat jealous.  Lady Florence seems to have a strong attraction to you, which is hardly surprising as you are both of a strongly similar physical type.”

“Ah, but Florence is a platinum-headed pipperino while I…”

“You are a very beautiful man, Bertie. You are too humble and self-effacing to notice it, but you are very attractive. It has scalded my heart on more than one occasion.”

“I er, ah.” He flushed and I kissed him.

“You see, he had seen you with Mr. Todd and had taken the opportunity to ask me about him.”

“Stilton interested in Rocky? What about Florence?”

“They were not on speaking terms at the time.  I believe she was engaged to you.”

“It has been a bit difficult to follow.”

“It is all recorded in the Junior Ganymede Club book.”

“Please do not speak of that infernal volume.”

“I apologize. In any event, Mr. Cheesewright was sore of heart and he and I had a sort of relations.  I cannot apologize enough, Bertie.  Only the depth of my anguish at the thought that I had lost you allowed me to be so indiscreet with one of the members of your social circle.”

“Depth of anguish?” Mr. Wooster’s face went white, and he pulled away to sit back on the divan. I retained his hand while he gathered his thoughts.

“I apologize. It was very perfunctory.”

“I…perfunctory?”

“I do not feel honorable giving details, but please understand that it was a reaction to feelings of disappointment. On my part, it was a weakness occasioned by the deep pain I felt in seeing you, as I then believed, as the lover of another man. He did not endanger or harm me and he was quite gentlemanly.”

Mr. Wooster struggled with the information, seeming much angrier than I had ever seen him.  “I, Reg, I just do not understand what you mean. You and Stilton exchanged affections?”

“There was no affection to exchange, Bertie.  It was merely a release.”

My heart bled as Mr. Wooster bowed under the weight of the realization that I and Mr. Cheesewright had engaged in relations out of convenience.  I felt very deeply ashamed, not because I felt the conduct was wrong in itself, nor I had not felt compromised in any way by Mr. Cheesewright's conduct—but because my relations with Mr. Wooster had shown me how deeply precious such contact could be.  I would never be able to engage in such conduct now and I shudder to think that such might be forced on me by the MI6.  Mr. Wooster silently rose and dropped my hand then wandered into the bedroom.  I heard a shelf collapse and he reappeared wearing his evening dress trousers, a flowing French artist’s shirt—how he had smuggled that item into the house I would never discover—and the violet colored beret. 

“Bertie?” Mr. Wooster latched onto some outlandish article of clothing whenever he was feeling particularly upset.  The current example was more egregious than anything I had ever believed him capable of donning. The mess jacket with the brass buttons, acquired during a two-month visit in Cannes while I was attending to a matter for MI6, was especially heinous, although the clothing he acquired in the United States has at times invaded my more unpleasant dreams. I was beside myself with mortification to have upset him adequately that he was willing to be seen in public looking so utterly ridiculous, but I dared not speak.  He would never respond to my interference while he was so upset about something I had done.

“There are limits, Reg,” he said in the cold tones of his most imperious moods, and the heart quailed within me.  The last time he had told me there were limits, we experienced a coolness of some weeks duration.  I was heartbroken.  “I am going to the club.  You needn’t wait up.”

I followed him to the door.  “I am so very sorry, Bertie.”

“Please don't wait up. Good night, Reg.” He kissed me on the cheek and departed. I righted the shelf and arranged his clothes, then retired to my room and wept for the loss of our golden time together.

****

**Bertie**

The blood boiled in the Wooster frame. It was bally exhausting.  If Spode and Stilton feel this way about minor insults, no wonder they are constantly pounding things.  I could have broken a mastodon in two with the bare claws. 

Stilton appeared stunned when Wooster burst into the club bar, and his customary “Ho!” was more muted than usual. He behaved more decently than expected.  I asked him for a word and, after opening and closing the mouth several times in his vast pumpkin-like bean, he agreed, ankling it out into a private room with no argument and closing the door behind him.  

He opened with a jibe. “What are you wearing, you infernal ass? Fortunately, we have a reciprocal agreement with Drones so they have to take you, otherwise there would be nothing I could do. I can’t believe Jeeves let you out of the flat looking like that.  I thought he had your best interests at heart.”

I drew self up, checking to see that there were no observers, which might have appeared slightly silly as we were alone amidst a heavy sea of dark wainscoting. “There are limits, Cheesewright.  Limits.”

“Blast, Wooster. What are you prating about?”

Rex Stout came to my aid. “You manhandled my manservant, Cheesewright. There was something untoward, and when questioned, Jeeves crumbled and revealed all.” Cheesewright gaped like an astonished frog.  I lifted a finger and adopted the tone I used when Spode got out of line. “This conduct will not be tolerated, Stilton. I am appalled that a man who I have, since boyhood, regarded as honorable, if lacking in certain charms that are highly desirable in a close associate, would take advantage of a dependent. However, it cannot be said that Wooster is unjust. I see my own fault in the matter. By allowing my friends to mingle freely with him, I may have given the impression that I would take no notice. My mistake will be rectified forth-whatsit. I will not have him endangered. Henceforth, if henceforth is the word I want, and hereafter, I give you notice that Jeeves is under my protection and no more importuni-whatsits will be tolerated.”

During this lengthy speech, Cheesewright’s pumpkin-shaped visage had gone from white to red to white and a sheepish cast appeared across the features. “It was not a case of force, Wooster. I assure you that Jeeves did absolutely nothing amiss. Any fault in the matter is my own. Although, you should be aware that he is well able to take care of himself. Do you know who that blighter was he took down? We are lucky to be alive.” I drew self up.

“No, Cheesewright.  There will be no caviling, if that is the word I want. I will not have it clouding the issue at hand. Jeeves is my manservant and, as such, is not in a position to fend off such requests with equanimity.  His instructions as regards my chums are quite strict, and even though we do not always mingle well, Cheesewright, I am quite sure he should regard you as one of my closer associates.” The Cheesewright visage is not a subtle one.  Emotions generally flash upon it in a fairly rude and obvious way.  However, in the present case, I could not quite make out the expression.  A sort of rummy look floated about the C. v., a deep shock, with undercurrents of amusement and respect, perhaps. “I will let it go this time. You have been warned.”

“Of course, Wooster.  You are quite correct to have brought this to my attention.  I sincerely apologize. I never imagined that I would say such a thing, but you are quite right and I am entirely in the wrong.  I only beg of you not to repeat anything of this.  Please convey my sincerest apologies to Jeeves.” He extended his hand, and I shook it.  “Will you stay for a snifter?”

I was about to accept, for the Wooster nerves were deuced frayed, when the sight of myself in a mirror snagged the attention.  The scales dropped from the peepers and clattered ringingly upon the stony ground of the Prawns Club.  I looked bally ridiculous, like some sort of bohemian clown about to let loose with sartorial mayhem on an unsuspecting metropolis.  Jeeves would be a laughing stock if the other valets saw me tooling about in this getup. No wonder he had always become so upset with me when I took a fashion freak into my head. “Ah, no, thank-you, Cheesewright.  I find that I have forgotten my jacket and should be getting back.  Nothing more will be said on this matter.”

“Good. You look a complete ass, Wooster.  Let Jeeves dress you the next time you leave the flat.”

“Good-night, Stilton.”

I caught a cab back to the flat and ankled it to the door.  The limbs trembled with spent emotion.  Of course, in my temper I had charged out without a key and was now unable to gain entry without disturbing Jeeves.  I knocked humbly and the door slid open silently, as if I had uttered a magic phrase.  Jeeves stood, in his valet uniform, his eyes looking unacceptably red. I trickled in and closed and locked the door, then took his hand.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Reg.  I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“It’s no…” his voice broke.  

“Reg?” He closed the e.s. and rested his head on my shoulder.  I slipped an arm around him so I could rub his back. “My dear, Reg, whatever is the matter? Are you ill?”  He made a noise like someone choking back a sob. “Please do not worry. I have defended you. Cheesewright conveys his apologies for impor-whatsiting you.  He intended no wrong.”  Jeeves put a hand on the willowy waist, to steady himself, perhaps.  “Maybe we should sit down, Reg.” I drew him to my bedroom and shifted him onto the bed, taking his face between my hands and kissing him on the lips and forehead and both cheeks. He looked bally miserable. “Are you all right, heart’s delight?” His face crumpled briefly, and I folded him into the willowy limbs.

 

**Jeeves**

I busied myself with chores and made the acquaintance of the night watchman.  After some time, I realized that Mr. Wooster forgot to take a key with him to the club and dressed in my uniform in case he brought any guests.  I heard a cab soon thereafter and had the door open almost before he knocked.  My guilt at my brief liaison with Mr. Cheesewright was considerable, and therefore I was nearly overcome to find that Mr. Wooster had returned sober.  It was with some disbelief that I heard him explain that he had gone to the club to defend me and place me under his protection.  My emotions, which had been heightened ever since the night I first crawled into Mr. Wooster’s bed, overtook me, and I broke down when he called me “heart’s delight.”  Mr. Wooster rarely uses terms of endearment, and I find it very affecting. 

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“I owe you an apology. I caught sight of myself in a mirror and the scales dropped from the e.s. and bounced about the Turkish carpets. I suddenly thought what a bally ass I looked, and I could have curled up under the credenza in shame. But there is more.  I overlooked that seeing to my clothes is your job, and they were making you look foolish also.  I imagine the other valets have been ribbing you quite mercilessly, much like my chums rib me when they think you’re keeping me on a short chain.  Many times over the years, I have been short or harsh with you because I was trying to prove that I was not to be henpecked.  It was unjust conduct, Reg, and lacking in generosity.”

My frame quivered with emotion, but the degree and type of ribbing would keep for another time. “They have been quite cutting in their remarks at times, that is true.  However, I was at fault as well for my lack of tact. It does not do for a valet to bark at his master over minor disagreements about pink paisley. Bertie, I apologize again for my indiscretion.”

“My dearest Reg, it would have been terribly churlish to expect you to limit your, er, whatsit at the time, but still, you, even if you are far his superior as a man, are not Stilton’s equal. Even a mutually agreeable exchange of affection. I would have felt it bally wrong to allow even that without ensuring that you were guarded from harm.  But I cannot bear the thought of you being used like that. It is not to be born.  And, worse yet, it was entirely my fault.  By your own admission, you would never have done this had you not been so deeply cut by my unthinking conduct.  I should have protected you better and let you in on the Wooster heart, but I did not want you to feel obligated. My word.  Do you feel obligated?!”  My heart melted at the worry playing across his generous, beloved face.  How could such a kind, gentle soul be worrying that I would feel anything rather than honored to be with him?

“Bertie, how could I feel obligated when you have been so generously open with me? I love you, so very deeply. I am… I wish I knew how to explain…” My voice caught. “You see, I often feel that I am in a position to manipulate you and that it has only been your identity as master that has kept things even between us. I felt similarly and that your kind nature would make you feel obligated to return my feelings.”

Mr. Wooster looked at me for a long time, then he reached out to stroke my hair. “I should feel insulted, perhaps, but I know you can outthink me any day and lack many of the scruples that I feel must regulate my conduct.  And you are bigger and stronger than I am.  Still, my will is strong, is it not?”

“Very strong.”

“And I am the master about the place, am I not?”

I considered this question quite carefully and found that, despite my feelings of intellectual superiority and my ability to manage him, that Mr. Wooster had, although often with great difficulty, succeeded in maintaining his proper position in our association. “Yes, Bertie.  I have not said so before, but I am very, very proud of you.  I know I have not made that easy.”

“Thank-you Reg. I am quite beside myself that you are, rather, have become so distressed over this. I want you to feel safe and protected while you are my dependent, most especially now that we are lovers.  I know that I can do nothing to protect you from the MI6, but I can do this for you.  I hope I have not overstepped.”

“I am very grateful.”  We sat for some minutes.  “Bertie?”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?  Oh, I am … you're leaking about the edges, Reg.  What is it?”

“I’d like to retire for the evening.”

“Of course, Reg. My word. You’re trembling. Would you like me to help you undress?”

“Yes, please, very much, love.”


	3. Que sera, sera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie and Jeeves play croissant cricket. Stilton needs helping out of the soup. Pinkies are hooked.

**Bertie**

I am not certain how, but Jeeves has somehow taken up the dust that was Bertram Wilberforce Wooster and made a man of him. We had a real heart-to-heart talk and whatsit, to the wee hours, the first of many.  Even though the days before that remain bathed in a sort of golden glow for both of us, that night was the beginning of a fusion of soul much truer and deeper than anything we had thought possible. I am forever in Stilton’s debt. If he had not been such a class A prat, Reg, I mean Jeeves, and I might never have, er, well, ah, whatnot. 

Jeeves, it seems, is a much more sensitive soul than I thought.  Not that he does not have something of the hard edge about him, because he certainly exudes a vigorous coolness in professional situations. He was much more deeply shaken than I expected, but he allowed himself to be comforted, and even protected, by his young master.  I could have burst with pride that he trusted me, feeble and foppish me, to shield him from the outrageous whatsits and their slinging arrows, or thingummy, even while wearing a floppy French artist’s shirt and a violet felt beret.  I ankled to the bath for a dampened towel and tended to him gently, wiping the e.s and kissing the cheeks. As I eased the valetly jacket from the trembling Jeevesian form, he looked at me with a sort of thingness, and I pressed the lips against his brain-filled forehead.

“Do you need an aspirin or a brandy and soda?”

“No, thank-you, love.  I am just…chuffed, I believe you would say, that we have not experienced a protracted coldness.  I was most fearful that we would, as so frequently happens in the course of our minor disputes.” I hung up the jacket, and eased off our shoes and started on the Jeevesian buttons.  In our years together, I had never had the sense that Jeeves was very bothered by our dust-ups.  I’d always thought he viewed them as a type of sport.

“I thought you enjoyed outwitting me, Reg. And you often seemed to be upset by my clothes… remember the scarlet cummerbund?”

Jeeves snorted.  “You looked so silly in that …garment.  I will never understand what possessed you to buy it.”

“It was colorful and in my heartsore state a pick-me-up was required. But you refused to help me with my engagement.” He appeared stunned. I opened the cuffs of his shirt and eased it off him, stroking the back of his neck and shoulders, smiling when gruntled noises flowed forth from the Jeevesian lips.  I loosened the belt and mastered the fastenings of my trousers, slipping them off and putting them on a hanger without binding my knees together or toppling over.  One of the shelves tumbled to the floor, but we were intent on more important things. Jeeves stood up and applied the shaking digits to the belt, but I gently brushed them away and unfastened his buttons.

“Thank-you, Bertie. This kind attention is most welcome, but to return to our discussion. It is always difficult when you are in those moods to anticipate what you will find upsetting.  Generally you are so kind and mildly appreciative of my efforts, and it always distresses me deeply to know I have not given satisfaction.” He hung up the trousers and helped me pull the shirt over my head, running his quivering fingers over my chest until I wriggled and purred.

“I had no idea, Reg. You are, have always been, so dashed perfect.  I thought you knew how I felt about that.”

“When you seemed displeased with my performance, I would feel reticent and wounded. In that case, I was too upset by personal matters to really put my mind to it. My trip had not been one of pleasure.” I had never considered the vast enterprises that informed Reg’s life below stairs.  I unfastened the Jeevsian undershirt and ran my hands over his chest, moving forward to press my lips against the interesting scars there.  I pushed him back down onto the bed and we slipped off our socks.

Jeeves worked at the buttons on my undershirt with his trembling fingers, amazingly nimbly given how much he was shaking.  He paused as I began to unfasten his undershorts. I halted proceedings.

“Is this all right, Reg?”  He lifted his eyes.  I could have drowned in the look of love and affection there.

“Please continue,” he said, stroking the Wooster breastbone and continuing to unbutton the Wooster underclothes. I undid his buttons, stroking the soft skin of his phallus. He usually kept himself covered until we were quite worked up, which we had been for days so I hadn’t seen him so soft before.  It took a bit of tender treatment for him to respond, and I watched with a sort of fascination, hardening myself, as he unfurled in my slender hand. He blushed, as he often did when I looked at his personal bits, and met my eye as he ran his hands over my chest, slipping the shirt off my shoulder.  “Can you lift up, love?”  he slipped the shirt out from under me and ran his hands down the willowy form. I writhed excitedly. “You are an Adonis,” he gasped as I stroked him in the areas beneath the shorts, easing the bean closer so that we could lock the lips, and time stood still while we relished the feeling of our tongues twining together.

“Reg?”  I tugged at his shorts.

“Yes, love?”  He lifted his hip and I slid the fabric down his legs.

“Will you lie back so I can look at you?”  He remained rather pink about the ears and cheeks, but he rolled back and let me run my hands and eyes over him. “You really are quite gorgeous, Reg.” He flushed deeper, then gasped and arched the back as I stroked the chaps between his muscular thighs. I played with him a while with my fingers, lips and tongue. The breath roared from him like steam from a locomotive and his whole body flushed with pleasure as I caressed and touched him.  He pulled himself together and made a move toward my undershorts, so I slipped them off so he could see me as well.  I was erect and straining and as he lightly touched me with his fingers, I curled up and groaned as I struggled for control. 

He shimmered up and locked my lips with his and then fumbled with the drawer of a bedside table.

“Ah, no, Reg,” I gasped. “Please. You smell so nice just as you are.  Let me take you in my mouth.”

“I enjoy your peculiar scent as well, love,” he said.  “It’s not what you think.” He showed me a small bottle.

“What is that?”

“I saw how the smell of the ointment affected you, so I purchased some different scented oils.” He opened the top and a musky smell oozed forth.

“I say, that is something like, Reg.” I met his eyes and saw the love burning there, knowing it was meeting a similar look from the Wooster e.s.

“I took this one because it smells like you, love.” Tears stung the peepers.

“Thank-you, darling.  Did you have anything special in mind?”  I wiped the tears from his face—he seemed to leak a bit every time I called him a tender name—and kissed him.

“No, love.  I thought we would improvise.”

**Jeeves**

After I had worked for Mr. Wooster for six months, it had come as something of a surprise at the Junior Ganymede Club that I had not left for more lucrative employment. Mr. Wooster had not retained any of his former valets for more than that period, either.  When questioned, I remarked that I thought something could be made of him and this answer was enough.  We deplored the state of gentlemen, naturally, but felt the allure of fashioning a real gentleman from a callow youth.  The Bertram Wooster I first met was most certainly callow, but within a short period, I came to agree with Mrs. Gregson, that something could be made of him. I set out to mold him and was unsuccessful until I adjusted my guidance and sought to understand his pleasures. I found that we had gradually rubbed and shaped each other until we formed a comfortable household inhabited by two worthy adult men.  Little did I know that the years of my endeavor would culminate in such a rich reward.

Our tender lovemaking that evening was a revelation.  We rubbed each other quite thoroughly with the musky oil and, then, very gradually and gently, brought each other to the brink of release and then eased back again until we could hardly keep our eyes open.  Mr. Wooster, as always, tired before I did, and he collapsed sleepily in my arms almost as soon as we had both climaxed. I held him as drifted to sleep and the image of his dear face in that moment was burned forever into my soul. 

****

**Bertie**

Jeeves and I spent a few days of the ripest happiness I have ever known. We ankled out to the market, unshaven and in our shabbiest clothes, early in the morning, much earlier than I had ever been awake, unless I had spent the night in chokey. Jeeves showed me how to pick the best fruits and eggs, and frowned meaningfully when a mademoiselle flirted with me. I taught him the game were one throws cards into a top hat. We tossed in turn and when each of us had landed about twenty cards, he raised the deep blue peepers at me and asked in his soupiest tone when the diversion was likely to occur. Dinner roll cricket was much more of an all right, although we had to use a croissant, but much laughing and delightful roughhousing ensued.  It was bally pleasant to be tumbled about in his muscular embrace, although I noted that he shielded the w.f. as much as possible and more than once cupped the Wooster cranium to prevent it bashing against a hard surface. Jeeves thought up a bally marvelous version of the card and t.h. game: we threw the c.s. at the same time and scored points for the ones we knocked out of the way.  He won, of course—the man is a phenomenon with anything requiring concentration and dexterity—but it was topping good fun. We cooked together and I made much less mess than expected.  Thankfully, Jeeves  kept a watchful e on preparations and more than once prevented Wooster from slicing the digits. It did us both a world of good to spend the day laughing and smiling.

We then dressed and attended our clubs, more for form’s sake than anything else, as we both trickled in before eleven, and curled up together in the bed, where we kissed and snuggled before drifting off to sleep. It was the most bally perfect day, and unlike that golden haze of nonstop lovemaking, it was a real day that we could have again and again—and the next day was similar, and the next, although we broke out the scented oils at night and had a rousing session of whatnot together.  The games changed and we went to a bookstore once and to some more museums and haberdasheries, but generally we lived much as we had in London, except that Jeeves became my chief playmate and I helped with the chores.

Stilton Cheesewright, prat extraordinaire, did not return on Saturday as promised, nor on Monday, and none of our inquiries met with success. Jeeves sent a few cables when Stilton didn’t show up, and we paid another week’s rent and lingered in Paris.  On Thursday, a cable arrived from the MI6.  Stilton would be with us on Saturday, it said, if we sent the address of the flat.  The color blinked out of the Jeevesian visage.

“What’s wrong?”  

“I do not feel comfortable revealing our whereabouts, but they may be asking to confirm Mr. Cheesewright’s identity and therefore I am hesitant to give a false address.”

“Ah—can we ask?”

He looked at me glowingly and had the operator place a call. I am not sure who or what Jeeves was in MI6 during the war but he asked to speak with the director and the call went through immediately.  "Yes, sir.  I do understand your instructions; however, we feared that Mr. Cheesewright was in danger.  Yes, he and Mr. Wooster have known each other since their earliest schooldays.  No, Mr. Cheesewright is not mentally unbalanced, sir. I assure you he is speaking truly. Yes, a violet colored beret. Violet. No, it is not a code for something else.  Yes, an actual beret. Felt. Yes, violet felt. I did not know that they were produced in that shade, either, until I saw the garment.  I was very sorry to learn of it as well, sir, but you can confirm this detail with the porter at the Prawns Club or with Mr. Fortescue, who I believe also saw the ensemble in question. Yes, sir, a flowing artist’s shirt.  White.  And dress trousers. No, sir, it will not happen again if events are in my power to direct. I see, sir, I was not aware of that aspect of the case.  It is very good to speak with you again also, sir. No, I thank you, sir.”

“Bally embarrassing,” I said.  “I’m now known as a first-class prat par excellence.”

Jeeves cleared the throat.  “Let us speak of this further at home.”  We ankled out and tooled about the streets for a while, taking in sights and looking at the river before we eventually made our way back to the flat.  We’d only have one more day before the tide broke and Stilton descended upon us.  We didn’t say very much as we walked, and when we entered the flat, the first thing we did was join hands.  I looked up into his eyes, and he began to laugh.  I had no idea what was so amusing, but I started to laugh too, and we clung to each other for a few minutes, gasping.

“Bertie, tell me how you got home the night you defended my honor with Mr. Cheesewright.”

I flushed pinkly because it was bally embarrassing. Normally the sense of direction is flawless.  “I forgot the address. I went to Stilton’s hotel first and tried walking back, but the atmosphere lacked warmth and joie de vivre, so I returned and took another cab. We wound up near the other flat, but I only realized that that was bally wrong after I got out, so I ankled it off to another hotel and took a third cab. I won’t be able to keep talking with you laughing like that, Reg.”

“And what were you wearing, my love?” He snorted and I glared.

“Fortescue lent me a top coat because it was growing chilly, but I grew warm ankling and took it off, and then I left it with the hotel porter on the second stop at Stilton’s hotel, but he was concerned about the chill air and gave me a cape some bloke had left behind.”

“Love, how did you get home?”

“I finally remembered the name of the street. Why do you ask?”  His brain clicked into high gear for a mo.

“Mr. Cheesewright was fearful for your safety and asked some colleagues to watch over you while you returned.  The Director wanted to know how you evaded two highly trained field operatives while wearing a flowing artist shirt and a violet beret, love.” 

**Jeeves**

The Case of Stilton’s Passport, as dear Mr. Wooster now terms it, marked the end of our honeymoon and the beginning of our new life together.  The continued presence of D’Arcy Cheesewright and the requests of the MI6 were growing increasingly irksome, but it was a good life and one that held promise for myself and Mr. Wooster.  We would see how well he managed in our forthcoming meeting with the French contact who refused to parlay with Mr. Cheesewright, but until then, the MI Director was very impressed with my lover’s field skills.

Once again, Mr. Wooster has given me leave to write the last words of our tale.  On the evening in question, knowing that we had a day left before Mr. Cheesewright would return to help Mr. Wooster train for his upcoming mission, we prepared a light supper and curled up on the divan to feed each other and snuggle.  We spoke little, and Mr. Wooster seemed quite preoccupied, I assumed by his worry about being perceived badly.  I felt for his distress, but I would have been deeply dishonest if I had tried to console him overly much.  He was a grown man and should have known better than to wear such things.  We settled down to read, I with an improving book and Mr. Wooster with a mystery, but he remained restless and wandered into the bedroom.  I hoped he would not hurt himself when he knocked over the shelves in the closet, but kept my seat, waiting for the inevitable crash.

He returned to the room pale and shaking in every limb, and I was across the room, with a hand to his forehead almost before my book struck the floor.  “Bertie, love, are you ill?”

“No, old fruit,” he stammered, his teeth chattering.

“Bertie, you’re shaking. ”  I was upset and realized that I sounded accusatory, so I wrapped him in my arms.

“Ah,” he began. “I have something …” 

“Please sit down, Bertie.” We sat on the divan and I felt his head with a hand and then my lips.  He seemed well, but the shaking was worrying. “What do you have, love?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, battered leather case.  I recognized it as something he carried with him everywhere, but I had never seen the contents. He had specifically enjoined me not to open it and I had respected his wish.  He swallowed audibly and opened the case, revealing a gold ring on a chain.  My mouth dropped open as he knelt on the floor.

“Reggie, heart’s delight, I’d like you to have this,” he said, showing me  a plain gold band. “It was my mother’s. I wore it on the chain around my neck until I left Oxford and I carried it on my watch chain for a year or so, but I nearly lost it in a fountain. Reggie, I … it would mean a great deal to me if you would accept this as a token of…. I know we can’t…erm, but we can promise, ah, to each other, and I, er. Ah, dash it. Please consider hooking the pinkies with me for life, Reg. I know I can be a bit of an ass at times, but I love you, really love you. You have made my life so much better every moment since we met, and it would be bally well topping to belong to you and know that you belong to me, too. Please, Reg, please say yes, and I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

I would have expected that we would both be weeping at such a moment, but our eyes were clear and glowing. Perhaps after all the weeping that we had done for the last two weeks, we were ready to return to the generally even tenor of our life together. I stroked the side of his face, and pulled him onto my lap, speechless with delight.  “Thank-you, love. Of course I will belong to you. I am most honored, Bertie.”  We embraced and kissed and embraced again, but before we retired to the bedroom to seal our troth with an exchange of affections, we burned every beret in the house.  I noted with some chagrin, however, that Mr. Wooster had managed to hide his flowing artist’s shirt.


End file.
